Arkham Darkness
by iluvloz
Summary: Crime is getting slow in Gotham, so Batman and Robin move to Arkham. Will they go mad or will they kick villain butt? Read on to find out more. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING. YES, I USE OCs.


Bruce Wayne grimaced. Back in the Batman business and yet…

Gotham was peaceful. He was a thrice struck fool on a midsummer night if he didn't figure that out. It had been months since the last time he was "on call."

"Robin?" he muttered into his phone. "Dinner at my house?"

"Bruce," his sidekick (or partner, as Robin insisted) said with exasperation, "Someday you'll realize that I had dinner at your mansion- pardon me, your teeny tiny _house_- every single night for the past year. Maybe then you'll stop calling me. I'm already on my way."

Bruce gave a crooked smile. "I know, sidekick."

He heard Robin exhale exaggeratedly. "For the last time, it's _partner_." He hung up.

Like they had every night for a year.

"Sir," Alfred said apologetically. This man, Bruce learned, the best butler of all time because he could serve dinner, help you save a city, raze heaven, and resurrect hell- all in that same apologetic tone.

Bruce snapped back to reality. "Yes Alfred?"

"Dinner will be served in half an hour. I assume Robin is on the way?"

Every night for the past year.

"Yes," Bruce nodded and grinned.

Alfred saw his master disappear into the study. He loved that his master, his child in essence was smiling and going about business normally. But there was something bothering him.

There always was.

But this was new trouble, in that it meant no trouble. Gotham didn't need the Batman- in a good way. He and Robin had picked the sidewalk clean with city scum and organized crime. Now the police had a few robberies here and there, but nothing major had cropped up in months.

What Alfred wouldn't give to know what went on in Bruce's head. Probably the ronde de nice en persillade he was making tonight.

With a sigh he climbed into the kitchen. He really was getting a little too old for this.

But maybe not just yet.

…

"Let's move to Arkham," said Robin as he stepped through the door. No "hellos" or "How-are-you?"

Bruce stared at him. Maybe one too many concussions? "Arkham…" But he thought it over. Not bad.

There was a reason police fondly referred to the city as "Arkham Asylum." It wasn't because of mental patients, but the psychotic criminals that just topped off the sundae with more madness than you could stomach.

Something to do. A place to move on to. He could get rid of the memories- of Harvey betraying him, Rachael dying, Joker running amok, Talia and Bane nearly blowing up the city. His failures and successes.

"Start a clean slate" as Cat Woman would say, with a distant look in her stormy, unbreakable eyes. That was before she disappeared when the crime lulled in Gotham. For months they had fought all organized crime in the city.

Then one night (during weeks they realized crime was virtually nonexistent), they had an amazing dinner (courtesy of Alfred's mastery of all things holy and culinary) and a private night that he would not disclose under pain of death, not especially to the incorrigible Robin who was under the delusion cooties still existed. The next day, Cat Woman left a note saying, "Things are getting slow. Fighting crime's been fun, but I'm going to start with a clean slate. Thanks. P.S. I'll come back if it heats up again."

Robin snickered when he read that one out loud (why the hell did she send it to Robin?). "Man, you must have been really bad to chase her away." Bruce snatched the note out of his hand, thinking about her other farewell missive.

A second, secluded note was under his pillow. "I don't love you," it bluntly declared. "But I get a kick out of the missions you bring. Claw you later, Bat Boy." It was signed with a petite paw print.

Bat Boy?

Is this why Robin was annoyed when he called him partner instead of sidekick? Bruce glanced at the note again. He didn't love her back, he knew that much. Oh, he had fun when she was around, and of course she was a bewitching woman in all respects (not many people could passionately kiss you and steal the keys to your Lamborghini at the same time).

Bruce touched his chin, vestiges of surprise that his beard was gone touching him. A year since that beard left. A year since he'd come out of seclusion to the real world.

Maybe it was time to move on after all.

After dinner, they stupefied Alfred with their plans to run off.

"Arkham-!" he exclaimed. "Of all places, masters… Arkham!"

They finally cajoled him into thinking it was the best possible plan. Bruce maintained that plans to open a new branch in Arkham had been underway for some time- everything would be ready once they got there. Robin, impulsive as always (that was why Bruce doubly condemned and loved him) defended with, "I get to kick more criminal butt there than sitting around here."

"Did I mention Florence is nice this time of year?" asked Alfred. But after a few minutes of rumination, he surprised them with, "Should I let Mr. Fox know he is to act as Chair President under your absence, master Bruce?"

"Thank-you, Alfred," said Bruce, giving a crooked grin. They talked into the night of preparations, at which point Robin muttered, "Let's just take a duffel bag each with three pairs of underwear, we should be good, eh?"

…

A month later, packed with a bit more than three undergarments, Bruce got out of his vehicle. In his fit of passion he decided just to bring the Lamborghini and the Pagaeti- "if one breaks down, gets towed away, or bombed," he explained, "I have a modest back-up."

He ran through a quick mental checklist. Contact Gordan, check. ("Good luck," was what he said. "We'll miss you, but I guess Arkham needs our Batman and Robin.) Notify Fox, check. ("More Bat caves?" asked Fox.) Open the Wayne Enterprises branch here, check. Buy a place to live, check. Install the equipment, check. Scout the city- in progress.

Arkham deserved its Asylum status, he saw that as his chauffeur drove. The place was decrepit and dilapidated in the poorer areas. Even where supposedly the rich lived, wariness coated the ceiling, the walls, the floor, the champagne bottles, the expensive shampoos, the crystal chandeliers. The rich were constantly on the lookout for Robin Hoods and not-so-Robin Hoods, clutching their purses, fingering their rings. The poor fought a daily war to live.

"You'd think we just arrived to rob them or something," observed Robin as he arrived. He had duffel bag, a motorcycle, and the keys to a modest apartment he'd booked. Bruce observed his lack of commodities.

"What do I need?" asked Robin. "Just some clothes. I shipped a few things I couldn't live without to my room- the T.V. really- and that's it. Not all of us live like you Bruce."

Bruce knew it wasn't an insult, not really. Robin had been a poor orphan. Some of that bitterness during poverty still showed through the cracks in his armor. For him, the battle had always been uphill. For Bruce… well, he'd started off at the tip of a rollercoaster.

"Alright," said Bruce. "I have a meeting with a lot of useless paper signing to verify, yes, it's me, and I do plan to move here with part of my company before dinner. My place?"

Robin rolled his eyes and walked away. "_Yes_ Bruce."

Bruce chuckled as he heard the mutter, "For every night for the past year and for the rest of my forever alone life unless I get married."

…

The Lamborghini. The Pagaeti? No… wait…

Bruce finally chose the Pagaeti. "I'll drive," he told an alarmed chauffeur. He just wanted to get a sense of his new territory, check if his G.P.S. had failed (which it never had) to pick out even the most obscure alleys. Already the Bat Cave Expansion Project had begun and he had three suitable hideouts in the city thanks to his construction company contacts and Fox's discreet underground tunneling. That man was fast.

Bruce made a mental note to once again give him a share rise. At this rate, the man would own the entire Bruce Enterprises.

He jerked out of his thoughts as a child, dressed in rags, jumped onto the street right in front of his vehicle. No time to swerve-!

Then, as fast as lightning, a black shape barreled onto the street, pushing both of them away. Bruce slammed into the breaks, a foot into where the child originally would have been flattened and rushed out of the car. The black shape- a black-clad woman with a red-haired ponytail- knelt by the wailing child. He looked four.

"Sh, sh, it's okay," she said soothingly.

Maybe he was terrified he could have killed the child, maybe this woman's apparent superpower reflexes made him wary, and maybe he was just so darn lonely without Cat Woman and Rachael and the brief affair with Miranda Tate that he was craving the company of such a lovely creature. Whatever the case, he came forward.

The woman looked at him with flashing green eyes. "Do you ever watch where you're driving?"

Maybe she thought he was the chauffeur- usually the millionaire Bruce Wayne charmed the hair off woman. "I apologize madam-"

"Please don't apologize if you're not sorry," she said disgustedly, pinching the bridge of her beautifully straight nose. "Millionaires. They think they can glut and rush blindly through life expecting everyone else to get out of the way or die. You'll never change."

She gingerly picked up the child. "Let me walk you home, okay?" The child nodded tearfully, a lollipop (courtesy of this woman) in its mouth.

"Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No," she replied acidly. But instead of being burned, the longing in Bruce grew. She was what, twenty? Twenty-five, hopefully. She couldn't have been less than five years younger than him.

Woman who disagreed or quarreled with Bruce turned his romantic candle on.

"What's your name?" he called as she rounded the next alley.

She just gave him the Death Glare. Bruce stepped backward, smiling. He couldn't get those admirable green eyes out of his mind.

…

"So," said Robin. "We already have our first assignment, if you're up to it."

"Always," said Bruce. "Wait, are you doubting the master?"

Robin snorted. "Some master."

Alfred nodded. "Some master." But his tone was contrastingly admiring and both Robin and Bruce shared a smile.

"Who is it?" asked Bruce.

Robin flipped through a few pages. "Some guy named Flame."

"Rhymes with lame."

"Huh. I thought you'd say dame."

"I wasn't finished ."

"Now you are," Robin declared. "No bad poetry for under the age of thirteen while I'm here."

"Alfred," said Bruce, noticing his butler typing furiously on their criminal hounder computer. "What do we have on Flame?"

"He's a bomber, short and simple. Has set targets all over the city and with famous politicians. Gets ludicrous amounts of money by blackmail. He only actually set off one bomb, and that was a hospital a year ago when he entered crime. Has an underground mafia working for him, men he usually ships from Romania or the Middle East."

Robin watched carefully. "Like Tate?" he asked.

Bruce winced only slightly this time.

"No," said Alfred. "She was of a different province."

"Hm," Bruce tapped his chin. "What is Flame's next target?"

"Who," said Robin. "The mayor's daughter. He's loaded the house with a bomb and kidnapped the girl, asking for a billion in ransom."

"Enough to wipe the man out," said Bruce thoughtfully. "When's the ransom taking place?"

"From what I could get," said Robin, tapping his pencil thoughtfully, "it's at midnight."

"Tonight! Robin, you have my permission next time to inform me more than four hours in advance."

"I lack the audacity, master," said Robin wryly. "Just found out an hour ago, actually. I was still digging through other police reports when I found this. By the way, did you know they still have Tom and Jerry airing?"

Bruce stared at the ceiling. "No, I didn't. But if you were a mouse I'd get Cat Woman to eat you, Robin."

…

Batman breathed the shadows in, out, in, out… He was one with the shadow. There was only one, born to night and the dark moon. Flickering like a dark flame, smothering like a suffocation cloth, comforting as a mother's hand, sinister as the darkest evil… This was true-

"So," whispered Robin. "How's life?"

"Robin," Batman whispered back, his deep voice not enough to keep the annoyance out. "For the love of darkness, I am trying to meditate and merge myself with the shadows."

"Sorry if I killed your dark hippie vibe," Robin said sarcastically. "You know, you might consider changing you name to Voldemort. No, Knight Light!"

"Knight Light," Batman said, trying not to groan. He scanned the desolate alleyway, a known haven for criminals to conduct transactions. A short, pudgy man in a rich suit edged forward with an envelope, groping through the shadows. No sign of the target.

"Yeah, Knight Light. Has a good ring to it. Dark Knight is old, but Knight Light? You'll be a hit with the five-year-olds."

"Like yourself?"

"Exactly… hey, is it me or is that shadow moving?"

Batman focused in on a particularly shady corner. A man dressed in the casual mafia zoo suit was indeed moving there.

"Nice work."

"Seems kind of easy."

Ten armed men surrounded the mayor.

"Whoops," said Robin, strapping on his Bat belt, "Spoke too soon."

"Move on my signal."

"I want to give the signal."

"Robin-"

"Too late," he said, and dived off the building to yank the frantic mayor out of gunshot. The men started shooting as soon as they saw this new threat unveil itself in a red, green, yellow, and black suit.

Robin insisted on being an ostentatious prick. "What's the fun if you can't dazzle your enemies with style?" he would ask. "Black is so boring and serious."

"Robin!" Batman yelled, and swore when he saw that Flame was now taking this opportunity to hop away. Either for reinforcements or to actually run away, Batman wasn't about to find out.

He shot his grappling hook to the opposite rooftop and jumped down right in front of Flame, cutting off his exist.

"The road ends here," he said, wishing he had a better superhero phrase.

"On the contrary," hissed Flame, "burn."

Batman narrowly avoided becoming the world's first titanium alloyed suit human shishkabob as he dodged the flames that erupted out of Flame's gun.

A flamethrower? He had to get one of those. But alley was starting to smoke, and soon an inferno was coming.

…

Robin picked them off easily enough. The toughest part had been grappling the mayor to safety ten feet away from the fray, and in an elevated area where the tables could serve us a gun cover. But man, that guy was heavy.

"Sir, I'll need you to disembark. I see a woman over there who I presume is your daughter."

"Please, save her!" he cried desperately.

"Sir, only if you let go of my hand!" Robin yelled.

The tone worked, even if his words hadn't. Robin swooped down into the fray again. He batmaranged three guards and kicked the heads of two others.

"Hey boys, over here!"

The remaining five looked toward the sound of his voice. He quickly spotted the wriggling mayor's daughter in the clutches of one ugly-looking fellow.

"Smoke bomb time," he muttered, and threw a flashing ball into their midst. He heard coughing and smiled. "Never inhale while the gas is flowing outward," he whispered, "only when it's stale."

He tracked down a set of female coughs. The mayor's girl (twenty, he assumed) struggled as he knocked out her captor with a good judo strike and grabbed her, but after a grunt and, "Hey, I'm trying to help you escape, you mind?"

He swept her over to mayor, fending off unwanted advances from them both (which was slightly sad). Hell, where was Batman when you needed him to take your kisses? And, more pressingly, was the mayor still married?

He took out two more guys before realizing two had run off. "Whatever," he said. "The old bat can't be too mad at me, eighty percent is pretty good."

Then he noticed the fireworks going on. With one particular color, that of an inferno.

…

Batman shot a Batmerang and knocked the flame thrower out of Flame's hand. "Not so tough without your little toys, are you now?"

"On the contrary," repeated Flame, and Batman nearly died for lack of drama as he took out a trigger. "Take a step and I blow up the mayor's house!"

"On the contrary," said Robin, bashing in Flame's head and slyly taking the unconscious man's red button trigger, "I think you just got hosed."

"Hosed?" hissed Batman. "Pathetic superhero punch line. And he was my kill!"

"Sorry, you were being slow," said Robin, and he shrugged. "Two got away."

"Two? Robin!"

"Firefighters will arrive probably any minute," said Robin, hastily changing the subject.

In reality, they arrived within five minutes, where Robin and Batman were forced to put out the flames with their custom fire extinguishers. The mayors and the disgruntled firefighters thanked them for fighting crime, and the night went peacefully, softly as the smoke that wafted away from the scene of a crime fought.

…

Robin roared with laughter the next morning at the Junior Wayne Mansion (though modest compared to Gotham's , it still deserved title of mansion). "'_Can I have your number?_'" he mimicked the mayor.

Batman shook his head with a grin. "We probably shouldn't have looked at him like that."

Robin wiped away fake tears. "Yeah, but you remember what he said afterwards. '_Oh! Not like that! I meant- to call you again in case crime gets out of hand again!'_"

Bruce rolled his eyes. "He better understand that 1) calling violates our privacy 2) we aren't blind, we know crime when we see it and 3) he's calling us the next time his kitten is stuck in a tree."

"Or maybe to hook you up with his daughter." Robin smirked.

"That would be nice," said Bruce dreamily. For no reason at all, he thought of that one woman he met. "Oh well," he said, and began scanning the news. "Batman and Batboy move from Gotham!" were on a lot of headlines.

"Robin!" Robin said with exasperation. "It took Gotham months to get it right and a lot of not really subtle hints (Batman was reminded of the time Robin painted a huge wall red with 'Batman and Robin' to make a point no one got). Not Arkham!" he moaned and buried his head. "Why did we ever move, Bruce?"

"Because we're shamelessly attracted to criminals," said Bruce, swatting him with the paper.

…

Robin stepped outside of the mansion. He liked Bruce, he liked his new life fighting crime, right now he really liked the new gun series the police were developing. He whistled.

But he didn't like being Batman's sidekick. Friend, of course. Partner, hell yes. But sidekick? It sounded like the judo technique he'd always turn into a front kick and get whacked by Bruce for.

Though he could beat the old man (as he fondly referred to Bruce).

Robin whistled another tune. He could never stay unhappy long. And his reputation as a mulish hothead had earned him more than a few talks with the inspector.

But there was this one other thing bothering him. It wasn't Bruce's obsession with woman as much as Bruce's trying to push him to be more romantic. He didn't like that crap, and he hadn't the luxury when he was younger. So he burned his heart and wore it black, because he didn't need distractions and didn't care for the way Bruce's amorous expeditions went. But if he didn't get married… he'd end up with Bruce, which Robin was sure would end up worse than the former.

A flash of movement caught his eye. Two thugs were rounding on a small child clutching a measly monetary note.

"Take on someone your own size!" he yelled before dashing toward them. The laughed at this puny man and turned back to the child.

"Crap crap crap too far away-!" Robin thought, before a black tennis shoe connected with the first thug's head and sent him to the ground. A woman…?

She and Robin took down the second thug as the kid hid behind a trash can. Robin went for the head with a front kick; she took the legs. It ended in a messy spin for the criminal, who writhed on the ground.

The woman ignored him and called out to the child. "You okay?" Robin stared at her for a second- she reminded him a lot of Cat Woman. Red hair, green eyes. He considered her pretty, or so he guessed. (Where was Bruce?)

"That was nice of you ma'am," he said stiffly. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Here and there," she said noncommittally. "So where are your parents?" she said as if talking to a child.

Robin opened his mouth but couldn't respond, what kind of question was that? But he realized she was talking to the kid and shut himself up before he made a fool of himself.

"Where's mommy and daddy," the kid sniveled, "Those guys came and now they won't wake up!"

Robin's insides ran cold as he regarded his childhood mirror. An orphan.

The woman took the child, never mind he was in rags and she in clean black T-shirt and pants. "Come with me, it's going to be alright."

"Where are mommy and daddy?"

The woman was silent. "They've… they've gone on a trip, but you'll see them later, okay?" she said soothingly. Robin almost wanted to believe it himself. But he knew better than that.

"Hey, where are you taking him?" he asked her.

"Arkham Orphanage," she said sadly.

He looked at her suspiciously. "I don't know," he said. "You could be some organ dealer, why don't we just call the police?"

She laughed roughly. "The police? That's a great joke, or are you just new? Anyway, the cops have their hands tied up with a hundred other crimes in this city. They won't come for this orphan. But follow me there so you know that it's where the kid's going."

He hesitated. "Fine. But no detours."

She nodded. "Are you a cop?"

He gave a small smile. "Intuitive. And for the record, I was."

"Was, like past tense?"

"Exactly," he said, and followed her to a couple of blocks to the orphanage. The talked to the kid (his name was Mark) and each other on the way. Robin liked Natalia's (that was her name) no-nonsense, save the world attitude. She was a doctor who helped orphans in her spare time. And she had a hell of a spin side kick.

Robin told her he was a cop but now was going out on the detective trail, moving only recently to Arkham because of its terrific crime rate. Which wasn't at all a lie, just the barest of one.

"So this is Arkham Orphanage," she said.

Robin made a mental note to drag Bruce here and make him sign a huge check for this place. It was comparable to St. Stewart's, not too bad.

"Ah, Natalia!" said an older woman, wearing a hugest smile. "Our biggest-"

"Doctor, I know Mrs. Wint, you tell me all the time," interrupted Natalia. Mrs. Wint gave her quizzical look and then a laugh.

"Whatever you say, dear. Another one?" Mrs. Wint immediately took the child out of Natalia's arms and crooned over him. "You want to play some games?"

"I'm hungry," the kid said quietly, looking content at being smothered with love.

"Of course, Mark! How about an apple pie for you?" She led him away and waved to Natalia. By this time, other kids had crowded around "Aunty Natalia", asking for treats.

She grinned and passed around chocolates from her tiny handbag, so tiny it looked too suspicious to accommodate so much candy. Robin enjoyed being called Uncle Robin and played with some of the kids. He saw tens of kid Robins reflected back at him. He loved visiting the orphanage but knew, at the same time, he'd have nightmares of his parents dying again for a couple of nights. Best sleep with the Knight Light on.

"Are you married to him, Aunty Natalia?" asked one audacious kid that went after Robin's heart.

"No-no!" he stuttered. Natalia laughed at his red face. "No, kiddo, he's a friend. A detective."

"Oooh," said the kid. "Can you teach me to be a detected?"

"Detective," he said. "Uh, maybe some other time." He patted the kid's head as his face fell. "I'll come back, okay?"

When they left, Natalia turned on him. "You better have meant that," she said, her voice low.

"What?"

"That you'd visit."

"I don't lie," he said, "about important things."

Natalia smiled. He liked her open smile (His measly like checklist was growing really tall today).

"Coffee, at my apartment?" she asked. It was around four but blustering cold.

"Sure."

He realized that he lived rather close by, only a few minutes away by walk in another apartment complex. Hers was strikingly similar in that it was the exact same building, and almost the exact same design style of throw in only the essentials into a room.

"Sorry," she apologized as she lead him in, "I'm not really into decorating houses, so… er, I don't have much."

Not even a painting, a flower, a vase to tell him about her. Just a bookshelf, couch, T.V., kitchen, dresser, bed. Everything was plain and neat. The only defining characters were 1) that the walls were pasty white, while everything else midnight blue. Second, there was a picture of the orphanage, with the kids surrounding a smiling Aunty Natalia. Thank-you cards littered her only table.

"Nice place you got here," he said, accepting the white mug.

"Thanks."

He sipped the coffee and nearly dropped it.

"What, what's wrong?" she asked hurriedly.

"Oh god…" he gaped. "This coffee… is the best thing in the universe!"

He gulped it down despite it scalding his tongue.

Natalia smirked. "I try."

"So…" he looked back at the orphanage memento. "Why so interested in Arkham Orphanage?"

Natalia peered at the orphanage picture over her cup of coffee. "I lived there when I was little."

Robin grappled with the ensuing silence. "Sorry I didn't-"

"It's fine."

"Heard of St. Stewart's orphanage?"

She looked at him. "Not in Arkham, is it?"

"No, Gotham. I hung out there as a kid too."

"Takes an orphan to get to know one," Natalia said, sharing a wry smile with Robin. "This conversation is now turning rather mushy. So what do you do? Hobbies, interests, etc."

"Well…" I hunt crime in the dead of the night with a man dressed up like an oversized bat and twice as cranky, thought Robin, but he said, "I do a lot of detective work. But I like running, judo, stuff like that."

"Ditto. And I read." She pointed to a ton of books.

Robin walked out of her apartment a half an hour later feeling rather light. He declined to eat with Natalia because he had to meet Bruce- and confound it, for one night he would have like to say yes, but… He sighed. Natalia was probably the first friend he'd found of the female gender. He liked her mysterious green eyes and bright hair, her charm, her optimism, her darkness. That he could understand a fellow orphan.

And he really liked her coffee.

Must be hell of a cook, thought Robin. I should get her to meet Alfred someday.

And with that, he walked to Bruce's mansion.

…

"Wait," said Bruce. "You met a pretty young woman, fought two thugs, visited an orphanage, had coffee with her at _her house_, and yet you do not have her phone number?"

Robin muttered into his fish.

"What?"

"It's not like that!" he said, his face turning red.

Bruce turned back to his computer, simultaneously sticking food in his mouth (he'd honed the skill of multitasking for years). "Alright then. But was she really good looking?"

"Bruce!"

Alfred chuckled. Boys.

…


End file.
